I read this poem by Marion Horton today and felt compelled to share it.
Real or contrived? I cannot tell.Questioning all that I now see. Metaphors dangle overhead –like a child’s mobile.My pen reaches up to hook one –drag it onto the page. But which? The soft one, sewn of felt and love,which shares its yellow glow upon my face?The tough and weathered one that will survive,no matter how […]A thousand beating hearts. — Writing Whatnots